


Circus Act

by Buckybeardreams



Series: The Classifieds [42]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Classifications, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt No Comfort, Littles Are Known, Missions Gone Wrong, No NSAP, Rescue Missions, Undercover Missions, alternate universe - classifications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckybeardreams/pseuds/Buckybeardreams
Summary: Clint gets help from an unlikely source, during his mission.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: The Classifieds [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898527
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	Circus Act

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: my circus knowledge is practically nonexistent. Don't quote me on any of this guys, lol
> 
> Also I'm fairly certain there is a distinction between a carnival and a circus. I chose to ignore that and use the two terms interchangeably.

Clint was observing from afar, staring through the lens of his sniper rifle. He was pretty sure he could just take out this crook and be done with it. Not that his target was here at the moment. Besides, Clint wasn't here as an assassin. This was a recon mission, nothing more.

He was perched in a tree, not the preferred place to be, but the best he could do in the middle of nowhere. This circus was being set up in such an unpopulated area, that Clint seriously doubted their intention was to actually attract customers.

He'd spent all night following from a safe distance, as the twenty-four hour man scoped out different areas, before eventually settling on here. The man instructed lackies to set up the tent and to carry the equipment, while Clint watched. He didn't recognize the man. That wasn't shocking though. Clint was fairly certain that noone from his old circus had followed Jacques.

He left shortly after the twenty-four hour man did. Returning the next day as the carnival came to life. The evening sun was setting in the west, barely visible behind the mountain tops. Clint was reminded of a time long ago. Years before he'd even worked for the agency. He'd only been a teen, then. Stupid and foolish. He'd been sure that Phil would leave him to bleed out. To die in the red, blood soaked sand.

He hadn't.

The man sat by his side, day in and day out, as Clint, a nobody, with noone, struggled with his life. He was sure that he'd wake up and find Phil gone, but the man stayed. Watched over him. Slept in a ridiculously uncomfortable cot, just to be there for a boy he didn't even know. Clint had been in awe of the man. He'd been young. Hadn't even known enough about himself to know that he liked men, but he'd felt inexplicably drawn to Phil.

Of course, Phil had looked at him, and seen a broken little boy, who was all alone. It had taken years for Clint to convince him that he was more than just that broken child laying wounded in a hospital bed.

"You gonna leave yet? I don't even know why you're sticking around." Clint grumbled.

Phil smiled at him, and ruffled his hair. Clint shoved his hand away, glaring at the man. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, bandaged, but finally healed enough to be released from the medical center. He was relieved to get out of this damn bed, but scared that meant Phil would leave now. In a way it did.

"I have to get back to work. Here. Take this. It's got my personal number. If you ever need anything. Food, money, housing. Don't hesitate to get in touch. I can set you up with a job and get you agency housing. You can't get on the payroll until you turn eighteen, but I could get you an internship for the next few months, until then."

Clint just stared at the business card in his hand. Scrawled on the back was a number. Phil's number. He swallowed and glanced up at him.

"Why?"

Phil furrowed his brows.

"Why, what?"

"Why are you doing this? Helping me?"

Phil raised a brow.

"Because you're just a kid. I'm not gonna just walk away and leave you with nothing."

"Why not? You don't owe me anything. You've already done so much."

"I didn't do it, because I feel like I owe you, Clint."

"Don't. We're not friends." Clint snapped.

Phil sighed.

"Don't push me away."

"Why? So, I can get attached and you can abandon me?"

Phil frowned, and sat down next to him.

"The day I abandon you, will be the day that the sun rises in the west and sets in the east."

Clint scoffed.

"Shut up, Coulson. And call me Barton, or don't call me anything at all."

Clint was pulled out of the memory, to the sound of a voice that he recognized. It was Jacques Duquesne. The man he was after. Clint spent the day keeping track of him. Watching his interactions. Walking around the circus, with his shades on and his hoodie pulled up. Not the most inconspicuous of disguises, but he blended in well enough. He was shocked at the amount of people that had shown up. They must advertise well, for this many people to go out of there way just to see their acts. If Jacques' knife throwing act was anywhere near as impressive as Clint remembers it being, than maybe this many people showing up made sense.

The carnival attendees talked eagerly as they awaited the start of the show. Clint kept his head down, but still managed to stay alert and attentive. It was a very specific set of skills that an undercover agent needed to master in order to be successful. Especially, when there was a chance that their target would recognize them.

He watched a boy, no older than fifteen, that he had seen helping set up the carnival, work his way through the excited crowd. Clint's eyes narrowed as he watched the boy's hand slip into purses and his fingers extract wallets from pockets. Clint remembers this particular trick. One of the many things he'd been taught during his circus days. At the time it had felt like nothing more than one of his tricks. A mere slight of hand. Distract the audience, and they won't notice what your hands are doing, right?

The thought of his days of thievery, made Clint feel queasy. He took note of the boy, before turning his attention to the show, as the ring leader stepped out and addressed the crowd. Nothing about the performances particularly stood out to Clint, until the archery act. The man was introduced as Trickshot. Clint was shocked. Could it really be?

No, the man was younger, strong and muscular, but definitely not Buck Chisholm, the man who had trained Clint. Clint didn't recognize him immediately. It had been so many years and the chance that they would meet up again, back in Iowa no less, seemed impossible. When he spoke, there was no denying it. This man was his brother, Charles.

Clint's heart raced in his chest as he watched the performance. They had been trained by the same man, so it wasn't shocking that his brother was as skilled at archery as Clint was. He slipped out as soon as the show ended, his heart tight in his chest. He never thought he'd see the man again, yet here he was. Alive and well. So close, yet so far away.

What the hell was he doing working for Jacques?

Clint took a moment to catch his breath. He disappeared into the shrubbery, until the people cleared out and the circus had closed for the night. Then, he snatched up the young petty thief he'd seen pickpocketing in the audience.

Clint's hand over his mouth, kept him from screaming as Clint dragged him out of sight and knocked him out. He felt bad, but it was for the best. Jacques needed to be stopped and this boy didn't deserve to be stuck in the middle of all of this.

Clint pulled out his phone and called up Brock.

"Hey, I've got a kid who I think can provide us with the proof we need to take this damn circus down. Let's meet up."

Clint tied up the boy, with rope from his bag, and heaved him into his arms, carrying him to the designated meet up spot. It didn't take long before Rumlow showed up.

"You sure this kid can give us what we need?"

"Yeah, he's in on it, but he's not really a crook, Rumlow. Go easy on him. He deserves better than this shit circus can offer him."

"Not a fan of carnies?"

Clint grimaced.

"Got nothing against carnies. I'm not a fan of leaders who lie to their own people. Convincing them to steal, while all the while stealing from them." Clint bit out, his disgust evident in his tone.

"Fair enough. Let's take this boy back to the agency."

Clint shook his head.

"No, you take him. I've got one more thing I have to do."

Brock raised a brow.

"This isn't that kind of a mission, Barton. You know you're just supposed to gather intel. This isn't an assassination."

Clint nodded. He knew that. He wished it was, but he didn't plan to kill Jacques. That wasn't why he wanted to stick around.

"I'm aware. I just have some unfinished business, that's all."

Rumlow narrowed his eyes.

"Whatever you're planning, don't. Just come back with me. You've done all you needed to do, and shit it only took you a couple of days to do it. That's impressive enough, Barton. No reason to press your luck."

"I'm not doing it to be impressive. Now get this kid back to base. Interrogate him. Get what you need, but don't be cruel. He's young. He doesn't know what he's gotten himself into. He'll crack under the slightest of pressure. He'll tell you all about stealing from the audience, but he won't know anything about the embezzling."

"We don't need proof of the embezzling to take down the circus."

"I'll get it anyway. I have to be sure we get this guy." Clint insisted.

It was a lie. He didn't care about the embezzling. He cared about his brother. Well, he did care about taking down Jacques, but it wasn't as important as it was before he knew his brother was here.

"Fine, but you do realize you'll be without backup, once I leave. Don't do anything risky."

"I won't. I don't need backup. Give me a couple of weeks. Don't move in, until I give the word."

"A couple of weeks? Jesus, what are you planning, Barton?"

"That's not your concern." Clitn said, his voice harsh.

"It is, actually, but I know when to back down. I'll cover for you, but you better make this worth it. If Coulson or May finds out I'm putting you in danger for no reason, they'll have my head served on a platter."

"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine. Thanks, Rumlow."

"Yeah, whatever. Just don't die."

Clint spent the next couple of weeks agonizing over whether he should approach his brother or not. What the best way to do it would be. What the hell he'd say to him. Stupid things. He knew his emotions were running the show and logic had been thrown out the window. He didn't care. This was personal. He had a score to settle with Jaques, but mostly he had his brother to think about.

He really didn't want him caught in the crossfire, when this whole scheme was exposed. Clint was desperate to know if his brother was aware of the embezzling, or if he was just unwittingly involved. He needed to know, but he drew it out, not wanting to know the answer.

* * *

Clint knew when he walked into the room that someone was there. He was a highly trained operative. There was no missing the subtle signs. Even Little he wouldn't have missed the girls mistakes. She had clearly been looking through his things. The file on the desk was turned in a different direction then when he'd set it down, and the clothes he'd left scattered across his bed had clearly been rifled through. He wasn't sure what she was looking for, but he sure as hell was going to find out.

"They're stealing from their audience." The girl said, stepping out of the shadows.

Clint eyed her. She looked young. He was amused that she thought the purple sunglasses on her face were hiding her identity. He raised a brow at her. His felt his heart speeding up in his chest, but he didn't let the fear of seeing a bow in her hand show. He kept his breath even and his posture relaxed. He crossed the room nonchalantly.

"Yeah? What would a kid like you know about that?"

She gritted her teeth.

"Don't underestimate me. I could kill you."

Clint laughed at that. He highly doubted it, but he wasn't completely reckless. In one swift movement, her bow was on the ground and Clint had her pinned against the wall, her hands behind her back. He had his bow. He easily could have shot the girl down, but he wasn't cruel. He'd already knocked out one kid on this mission. He didn't want to harm this one anymore than was necessary.

He tsked.

"You're not so scary. I think you overestimate yourself. Or maybe you just underestimated me. Either way, that's on you, kid."

"Get off of me!"

"Making demands now, are we?" Clint taunted.

He let her go, stepping back, but snagged her bow off of the ground. He wasn't going to give her the opportunity to take it back. He had a feeling that he really shouldn't underestimate her. He was only a boy himself, when Trick-Shot had trained him. Jacques may have begun his training, but the thief wasn't going to get the credit for his skills, besides Clint wasn't known for his knife throwing. He was known for his mastery of archery.

Now, Jacques had the audacity of starting up a new troupe and scamming his audience. Clint was going to put a stop to it. He had a score to settle. In some agencies having a personal vendetta against someone, might get you taken off of a case. Fury always saw it as a reason to put someone on a case. This mattered to Clint and he would win. Then again, seeing his brother had changed things. Maybe that's why many agencies didn't want their agents so personally invested in their missions. It was easier to stay objective that way.

"I'm not here to fight with you. I know you're undercover. An agent, I imagine. My family's very wealthy. We have a lot of connections and I happen to know a lot of things. I could be valuable to you, but you have to promise to let me help in the field."

Clint scoffed. Was this kid for real?

"Go home to your rich daddy, kid. This is no place for you."

"What are you waiting for, hm? Proof? It's Barton, isn't it? I've heard about you. I also know that you have a personal connection to the ring leader. He used to be called Swordsman, I believe. Jacques Duquesne. I know your history with him. You must know he's a criminal. So, what _are_ you waiting for? Why not just take him in, and get it over with?"

Clint didn't want to say that there was someone that he wanted answers about. His brother, Charle. They'd went separate ways, and Clint was shocked to find him in the troupe now. As children, him and his brother had ran away from foster care and joined the Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders. Clint and Charles had been trained, not just to perform, but to be pickpockets, together.

One night, Clint had seen something he wasn't supposed to see, and realized that Jacques was embezzling, stealing from the same people who stole for him. Clint had told his older brother, who begged him to not confront him, and to leave with him. Clint refused and Charles left in the night. That following night Clint did confront Jacques. The man had been angry, but it ended with him apologizing and promising to return all of the money.

Clint should have known better than to trust the man, but he hadn't. The next time he performed, he was shot off of the tightrope, and Jacques ran, leaving him for dead. Phil had been working undercover at the time, trying to expose the man, and had taken Clint to medical. If it wasn't for Phil, he very well may have died that night. Obviously, he didn't. He recovered, rejected Phil's offer to help out, and went back to the circus. Jacques was gone, but Trick-Shot was still there and he continued Clint's training, turning him into the archer he was today.

He never did find out what happened to his brother. He tried to find him, once he joined the agency, but he never could. Now, he knew his brother was here. He'd seen him, and Clint couldn't pass up the opportunity to talk to him. He was finally working up the courage to do just that. He planned to confront him in the morning, even though doing so could jeopardize the whole operation. He couldn't not do it.

"I have someone I need to talk to."

"Who? Maybe I could help."

"Why do you want to, huh? What's in it for you?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out. Now tell me who you're looking for?"

"I've already found him."

She tilted her head thoughtfully.

"It's your brother, right? Barney? Or I guess you know him as Charles. Must be. That's the only thing that makes sense. You don't want him to go down for this."

Clint clenched his jaw. This girl knew too much. He had to make a choice now. Either he'd trust her, or he'd have to get rid of her. He wouldn't kill her. He wasn't cruel, but he might have to tie her up, and call Rumlow back to Iowa to bring her in for him. Clint wouldn't be leaving. Not without his brother.

"Trickshot." She said.

Clint narrowed his at her.

"That's what your brother goes by now. It's the name of the man that trained you, isn't it? Funny, the things we hold onto."

The girl was sharp. She clearly knew a lot more than she should, too. More than Clint knew, probably. She could be helpful, he decided.

"Tell me everything you know."

She smiled and held out her hand.

"Good choice, Barton. Name's Kate."

* * *

"Bishop? Like Derek Bishop, the most notoriously known business man in the Manhattan area?"

The Manhattanite had quite the reputation. The agency had been watching him for years, but he was careful. They suspected he was working with a criminal known as El Matador, but they had no evidence to back their suspicions.

"That'd be the one. I downloaded all of his files onto my laptop, that's how I know all of the things I do. He keeps tabs on just about everyone who is anyone, in New York, and countless other places, too."

Clint considered this for a moment.

"You still haven't told me why you're so invested in this." He asked.

"Suspicious?" 

"A little."

She laughed.

"I have my reasons. All that really matters is that we get this guy, sooner rather than later. I think we should act tonight."

"Why the rush?"

"Because the reason I'm here, it's- well, let's just say it's time sensitive."

"Fine. Let's do it, but follow my lead, and don't get in my way. Got it?"

She nodded.

Clint had feeling he was going to regret this, but he was allowing his heart to take the lead. Logic seemed secondary at this point.

* * *

Things were going well enough, until not knowing why the kid was so determined to be here, came back to bite Clint in the ass. He cursed himself for not demanding she tell him. It was a damn kid. Kate was trying to rescue one of her friends. From the looks of it, probably more than just a friend.

"América! Oh my god. Are you okay?"

"Kate? How-?"

"It doesn't matter. We have to get you out of here."

"Dammit, Kate! You should have told me this was a rescue mission." Clint snapped.

"I couldn't be sure you'd let me come. I couldn't risk it."

Damn right. He would have left her behind. Admittedly, bringing the girl in the first place was his mistake. He shouldn't have brought her, even if he thought it was only stopping a group of thieves. Bringing a child into this was a risk, that he'd chosen to take. He seriously regretted it now, just like he knew he would. For some reason the girl had made him feel safer. Like he had someone watching his back.

It was on him, if these girls didn't get out of here with their lives.

"Go. I've got this."

"But, you're brother-"

"Go! Now!"

They could hear voices and the sound of boots pounding against the ground. Kate looked at him one last time, before grabbing her friends hand and pulling her back the way they'd come from. Clint turned to face the man as he entered the room, a blade in his hand. His bow was gripped in his own hand. Clint's other hand twitching by his side, ready to pull out an arrow, if necessary.

"If it isn't Little Clint." Jacques sneered.

Clint squared his shoulders. He needed to buy enough time for the girls to escape.

"Jacques. I'd like to say it's a pleasure to see you again, but then I'd be lying. Although, if I remember correctly, you always had an appreciation for liars."

The man laughed.

"Let's not pretend, boy. I know you're an agent, now. Nothing more than a professional liar. Bravo. Congratulations on the upgrade."

Clint gritted his teeth. More footsteps and suddenly Charles was there, standing next to Jacques. His brother looked shocked to see him.

"Clinton? Wha-? I thought you were dead."

"I guess your boss lied to you then, Charles. He didn't seem quite as shocked to see me return from the dead."

"I go by Barney, now." He said, but his voice wavered.

Barney glanced at Jacques. The older man hardened his expression. He pulled a device out of his pocket.

"This is goodbye, Clint." 

Barney tensed up, but allowed Jacques to pull him out of the room. Jacques turned to look at Clint. He pressed a button and the device started to beep. He tossed it into the room. Clint's eyes widened and he turned to run out the door he'd come from, but metal came down, blocking both exits. Shit. He looked at the window. The bomb started to beep faster and Clint ran, throwing his body through the glass pane.

* * *

Phil sat in the waiting room, his heart pounding in his chest and his head throbbing. He couldn't believe this had happened. He should never have let Clint go on this mission. If Clint died, he'd never forgive himself.

Melinda was sitting there with him. All of their Littles were Big and at work. They didn't even know. Fury wouldn't let him tell them, not while they were on ops. They weren't expected to be gone more than a couple of hours, maybe a couple of days at most. Still, he hated not being able to tell them. They should know. They should be here, especially Natasha. She deserved to know that the first person she'd ever really considered a friend, a bestfriend, was in surgery and might not make it out alive.

The Dr Strange came out and Phil shot up.

"Is he okay?"

"He's alive. You should sit down, though." Stephen said.

Phil's heart just about stopped beating and he thought he might have a heart attack. He fell back into the chair.

"Tell us." Melinda said, her voice hard.

"It's not good. He's alive, but his brain activity is inconsistent. He's in a coma."

"How long?" Phil demanded.

"We don't know. He may never wake up. If he does, he may not be able to function the way he used to."

"What the hell does that mean? Are you telling me he's brain dead? Or that he's gonna be crippled? What?" Phil said, his voice rising.

"We don't know. Both are possibilities. We won't know more, until he wakes up and is responsive."

He didn't say it, but the 'or isn't' was implied and hung heavily in the air.

"Thank you." Melinda said.

Phil just sat there, feeling numb.

"You can go visit him, but I must ask that no children or Littles who are currently dropped, enter the critical care room. It's the center's policy."

Phil barely heard him. Melinda pulled him into the room, and Phil broke down into tears. He collapsed on his knees next to the hospital bed where Clint laid. Grabbing his limp hand, Phil kissed it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Clint. God, baby, I'm so sorry." He muttered against the back of his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This backstory for Clint may contradict things I've said in the past, I'm not sure. If it does, well, I don't know, just roll with it. Maybe I'll go back and fix it in the earlier chapters, but let's just say this is correct and anything that I said before that contradicts it, is inaccurate.
> 
> I'm fairly certain that I said Clint and Phil met at the agency, but I'm changing it. I think this is cuter.


End file.
